


Blood Magic

by Enchantedtalisman



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Blood Magic, Gen, Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 23:47:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7409965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Enchantedtalisman/pseuds/Enchantedtalisman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No; storm or elemental or spirit magic could never work quite right, just blood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood Magic

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this a while back, at least a year ago? A while back. And opened it up and cleaned it up today.
> 
> Blood magic yo, like you have to wonder why everyone who uses it goes cray right?

Sometimes blood magic felt like knives cutting every inch of his skin (in reality whenever Hawke looked down he saw nothing but a dab of his own blood where he had cut to start the spell). Other times it boiled in his skin; searing from the inside until he thought he would just burst into flames.

Once, cutting a Dwarven Carta's supply of blood to his lungs, Hawke couldn't breath himself. It hurt until the last breath.

It is pure agony, every spell, every incantation, but it's the only magic he knows. Not that his father _hadn't_ tried to teach Hawke other types but they had never stuck.

No; storm or elemental or spirit magic could never work quite right, just blood.

Another time, Hawke pulled the blood slowly hoping it might hurt less, and every second is slow torture that's replicated in his own mind. It was the worst pain he's ever felt as if he had opened his own veins and the blood wouldn't clot.

(He never does that again.)

He did it quickly, pulled the heart out with the force of blood. (His own heart stops beating sometimes, he wonders if it just means he finally lost it when it beats a second later)

Other times he would slice the brain of his victims with their blood, or let the blood cut through their neck.

It hurt each and every time. He couldn't breath, he couldn't see, he couldn't move, he couldn't _think_ ; every cut, every boiling curse, every explosive hex left him in agony.

None of his friends ever notice which he thinks, deliriously, seems _impossible_ but they never do.

Hawke wondered if there was something wrong with his magic, if that was why when he bleeds an already dead carta out and bottles the blood for later use, if that's why it also feels like his own blood is leaving him.

 


End file.
